


melior morior martyr

by trousers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2615672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trousers/pseuds/trousers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's better to die a martyr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	melior morior martyr

Cosette Fauchelevent wore a pistol on her hip and a knife in her boot and a red ribbon in her hair.

Sometimes when Enjolras looked at Cosette he saw not a girl, not a woman, but something more than human. The glint in her eye and the set of her shoulders and the arch of her brow; a hard, cruel beauty -- sometimes when Enjolras looked at Cosette he saw Patria.

 

\--

 

When they fucked they were like wild animals. Tangled in the sheets, fierce and savage, they devoured each other.

The sight of Enjolras' head between Cosette's legs was like something out of a dream. She tangled her fingers in his pretty blonde curls and ran a toe up the length of his cock and smiled at his desperate gasp, muffled in her thighs.

 

\--

 

The Inspector was bloodied and bruised and bound on his knees. Cosette laid a hand on Enjolras' forearm as she passed him, and not for the first time, Les Amis marvelled at the closeness that allowed for such unspoken communication between them. Cosette went into the tavern, and the Inspector spat at her feet, and she took the knife from her boot and drew it across his throat without a word.

 

\--

 

She takes joy in killing, visceral and cruel, and Enjolras wonders if it's because of the part of her childhood that neither she nor Eponine will talk about, or if that experience had merely awoken it, if it has always been there, slumbering under the surface since she was born. Born to kill, he thinks. It's almost poetic.

She bares her teeth at him. She's half feral these days, and Enjolras grins back, because so is he.

 

\--

 

They win the day. With Cosette's unflinching knife at Javert's throat and Enjolras' marksmanship at the barricade, they rob the Guard of its leaders. The men flee in disarray, and Grantaire is still asleep upstairs in the tavern. And the news spreads through the city like wildfire, and the people rise, and Paris burns.

Sometimes it's better to die a martyr.


End file.
